


The Witch and The Saints

by quillroys



Category: DreamSMP
Genre: Dream Smp, Other, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:47:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27877085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillroys/pseuds/quillroys
Summary: The Witch, a harbinger of chaos and granter of wishes, has an invisible hand in all of the dealings in the world of the Dream SMP. By asking small favors, she digs her claws deep in the politics, friendships, and even the very dreams of each person who comes across her. Can the Dream SMP overcome the influence of a powerful witch, or will Tommyinnit, Tubbo, Wilbur, and the others fall victim to the greater forces at work?
Kudos: 6





	1. Preview

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a small, ~750 word preview of the full story. I will hopefully be releasing chapters daily. Contact me at @quillroys to request writing, more chapters, or any other inquiries. :) I fulfill requests from any fandom for free as long as I am not overloaded. Have fun!

With a flick of her wrist, the teaspoon came to animation, making a soft whirr on the bottom of the cup as it spun the sugar around in her coffee. She rested her head on the heel of her palm and sighed, peering at her nails in boredom. With no reason to sleep as an immortal, they were often left with nothing to do in the hours of the night while her moon water charged on the porch but wait for something interesting to come to them. It had been hours since sundown, and no mice in the walls, nor desperate traveler arrived on the doorstep. She was entirely alone.  
That was, until Taimon, ever the loyal familiar, burst through his small window in the roof, cawing up a storm as he fled toward their shoulder and hid next to the teacup. It wasn’t more than a moment before the ghost manifested before the two of them.  
Pleased at the chance for something interesting to occupy their evening, she raised an eyebrow and met his clouded gaze. “Mr. Soot,” she said mockingly to the dead man, sitting back in her chair with a smile. “What a pleasure to have you back.”  
He took a step in, a cautious, yet frantic emotion flooding from him. “Whatever he says, witch, I beg of you not to listen. He is not in his right mind, he cannot be trusted to make any decision about this in this state!”  
The witch opened parted their lips, ready to ask whatever he could have meant, but she didn’t have the chance to ask before the Vice President of L’Manberg, Tommy, burst through the door. Just as he did, the spectral form of the ghost disappeared from view, to the great annoyance of the boy.  
“Witch,” he said quickly, a red mist over his gaze, “I change my mind. I’m ready to make my wish.”  
Her voice as calm as she could manage for the excitement bubbling through her and their familiar, they managed to purr, “Good evening to you, as well, Mr. Vice President.”  
“Don’t play games!” he blurted, his hands trembling.  
The witch paused, tilting her head as she waited for him to speak. “Well?” she asked, sticking out her hand as if in offering. “Go on, I’m listening.”  
Tommy met her gaze as a bead of sweat dripped down the side of his face. “I need you to make me President. Remove Tubbo from the seat, make me the president. He doesn’t understand what he’s doing, he’s not fit for it like I am. He’s soft, and I can’t live with him getting hurt.”  
“Are you sure that this is what you want for your wish,” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “What would Wilbur think—“  
“I know he came to you,” Tommy interrupted, and then spun around to face the empty space in the cottage. “If you’re here, Will, you can’t change my mind! Don’t try to stop me!” He was panting so hard that the witch thought he might simply pass out.  
“Fine, then, fine,” she ceded, waving her hand nonchalantly, “I’ll grant your wish — for a price.”  
He turned quickly, pulling out the sash at his waist. “Name it. I have gold, gems, I can get Techno—“  
They raised their hand, silencing him. Taimon made a gentle coo as she caressed them with her free fingers, her calm demeanor a splash of contrast against the tension in the room. “Calm down. Tommy. The price of my magic is simple: I ask for a favor.”  
“A favor?” he echoed, and it made the witch laugh.  
“Yes,” she said affirmatively, “a favor. I will come to you when it is time for me to take my favor, and you must be willing to do whatever I say, whenever I say it.”  
The form of the ghost manifested suddenly in front of the boy, his body rippling with stress. “Don’t do this, Tommy, don’t be so rash—“  
“I’ll do it,” Tommy said, simply walking through the transparent form of the dead president, forcing it to disappear. “Take Tubbo off the throne and I will do your favor. Whatever it is, whenever you wish it.”  
A dark, clever smile broke out across their face. “Perfect. We have a deal then, Mr. President.” She held out their hand.  
Tommy took it, and shook it firmly, just once.  
“The deal is done.”


	2. Waking Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommyinnit’s life is a god damn nightmare.

Tommyinnit lifted his head to the sky, his eyes shut as he basked in the fresh sunlight of L’manberg’s open fields. He cherished each moment of his new freedom, breathing in the air free of gun smoke and pain. His lips lifted into the hints of a relaxed smile as he nearly forgot where he was in that moment of pure bliss— that was, until he heard his name from across the plain. 

“Tommy,” an excited voice called from a few paces down the gentle slope, and the Vice President opened his eyes to meet Tubbo’s gaze, his best friend, who had called his attention.

A lazy grin slid across his face as he leaned back on one arm. He cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled a sharp, “What?” 

“Come quick! Fundy’s shot the crossbow for the first time!”

The boy shot to his feet and threw his arms into the air, crying out, “You didn’t call me before he did that!” and broke into a run with a wild grin spread wide across his face. He felt as though he were spreading wings, so free he could almost fly—

“Tommy.”

The boy stopped in his tracks as a voice echoed through his head, making his heart break into a rush. His breathing fast, he spun around to see who had whispered just behind him, but there was nobody there.

Well, almost. If he squinted, he could almost see in a figure in the distance. Almost... No. There was definitely someone there. He could tell by the pit of dread in his stomach as he took in the sheer darkness surrounding their energy. As if they didn’t fit at all. He took a step back to step away.

Suddenly, he felt the warmth of someone’s back against his, as if he’d slammed right into somebody. He glanced over his shoulder in confusion.

Tommy’s stomach dropped as he took in the scenery around him. He was standing against Tubbo’s back, his friend’s breath frantic and ragged, and they were surrounded by a terrifyingly familiar chaos:

He was back in the fall of L’manberg.

A cackle rang out across the ruined land, and the bare sound of it made adrenaline and fear shoot through the boy. He whipped his head around, and paled at the jarring sight of the gaping chasm ahead, and at the blood-smeared face of Technoblade standing across from him, holding a skull over his head.

“You want to be a hero, Tommy?” He yelled across to him, a grin of wrath and insanity written across his face as he slammed his hands down, sinking the skull into the sand form of the wither’s form. “Then die like one!”

Tommy let out a raw scream of rage and agony and betrayal, but the sound of the explosion that erupted from the terrible monster was so loud that he couldn’t even hear his own voice. The impact of the shockwave was so strong that he and his fellow freedom fighters were all knocked off their feet and blown into the chasm behind him, but as he waited for the feeling of his back slamming lethally against the stone, he looked up.

And once again met eyes with the terrible human form of darkness standing over the crater, their face close enough to be revealed as covered by an ornate mask. They waved mockingly as he fell infinitely toward the ground below. Down, down, down — it seemed like an infinity before he was finally swallowed by darkness.

But it still wasn’t over. A breath later, he was on his feet in a dimly lit cavern — no, Pogtopia. He was back, again, and before him stood Wilbur. He didn’t look so bad yet, just as if he hadn’t slept. The silence of the ravine felt miles away from the chaos and destruction of the battle of Manberg.

Tommy didn’t have much time to relax before Wilbur stepped forward, resting a hand on his shoulder. “When I said you would never be president, Tommy, you have to understand: that wasn’t a challenge. That was true.”

The boy’s heart sank as his face paled. He felt as if he’d lived this memory before, a raw nightmare of disappointment and betrayal by the closest thing he had to family.

“Wilbur—“ He started, but nearly choked on the tense feeling of pure dread that filled the air. His eyes darted around the room, searching for the masked figure again, but soon came to realize that it wasn’t here.

The feeling was coming from Wilbur.

The man smiled numbly. “I’m dead, and it’s your fault.”

Tommy shook his head, stepping back. “No, I—“

But Wilbur’s face had changed: now stood Tubbo, his face bloody and smeared with grit and gunpowder. “Why didn’t you stop them from killing me, Tommy?”

“I swore I wouldn’t let them hurt you, Tubbo!” he cried, but his friend disappeared once more and was replaced by the looming form of Philza.

“I’m very disappointed in you.”

Tommy fumbled backwards and tripped, landing on his ass as he scrambled to escape from the crowd of his friends and enemies alike who manifested before him. Everyone he’d known — Wilbur, Tubbo, Philza, even Dream and Jsclatt, from whom he had never desired validation — stood before him, all simultaneously crying out their judgement at him. He curled up, finally covering his ears in his first moment of weakness and squeezing his eyes shut.

He sat there, trembling, for a long moment before it seemed that the voices had stopped suddenly, and after a few breaths to calm himself, he slowly lifted his hands away from his ears, lifted his head, and opened his eyes.

He barely had time to let out a scream before he saw Philza standing over him, plunging a sword down at his chest—

Tommy shot up in his bed, drenched in sweat, panting, and shaking horribly. It took him a long moment to ground himself and realize that it had been one more in a long series of nightmares he’d been having for the past few weeks since his exile. A series of terrible events and—

No. He wouldn’t let himself relive it. He would force himself to get the hell out of bed and get over himself like a real man.

Rising from the sheets to throw on a shirt, he stretched and peered around, shrinking slightly at the darkness of the room. It felt like Pogtopia all over again. It practically was: exiled from his home, except this time, he didn’t even have Wilbur, just the strange ghost of him.

For the first time, Tommy was completely alone with his thoughts. The mere passing of the idea in his head made him want to stab something.

“Alright, Tommyinnit,” he said to himself, staring at the flickering lantern in the corner of the room, “Get yourself together. It’s time to make a plan.”


End file.
